The Accidental Proposal (27 page)

Dan lets out a short laugh. ‘Mate, a Minesweeper isn’t a cocktail.’

‘It isn’t?’

‘Nah. It’s what you do when you’ve run out of money at the end of the evening. You just do a quick sweep of the club, and whenever you see any abandoned glasses that have something left in them you shout “mine” – hence the name – and collect them up. Then you pour them all into one pint glass, and get some poor sap to drink it.’

My stomach lurches again. ‘That’s disgusting.’

‘You were keen enough last night.’

I rest my elbows on the table and put my head in my hands. ‘It’s no wonder I feel so lousy this morning. What happened then?’

‘I dunno,’ he says, buttering a triangle of toast and cramming it into his mouth. ‘It’s all a bit of a blur, to be honest. Like I say, I was having a dance, and when I got back to the table, you’d gone.’

‘Gone?’

‘Yup.’

‘You were supposed to look after me. Not abandon me in some nightclub.’

‘What are you? Five years old?’

‘After that cocktail I was probably just as vulnerable. How could you?’

‘Relax. It’s not that big a deal.’

‘Not that big a deal? How can . . .’ I look around at the couples at the adjoining tables, and lower my voice. ‘How can sleeping with another woman a week before I’m getting married not be that big a deal?’

Dan holds both palms out towards me. ‘Calm down. What happens on tour, stays on tour, if you know what I mean. Sam doesn’t ever have to find out. Remember, the first rule of night clubbing is that you don’t talk about what happened at the night club.’ He makes the ‘my lips are sealed’ sign. ‘Or something like that.’

‘But . . .
I
know.’

‘Do you?’

‘Do I what?’

‘Know for sure. If you actually had sex with someone.’

I pick up my fork and stab one of the sausages on my plate, reasoning that I might feel a little less ill if I eat some of the full English breakfast the waitress has just deposited in front of me. ‘I woke up with another woman . . .’

‘Person.’

‘. . .
woman
, leaving my room, having evidently spent the night in my bed. That’s a pretty strong clue, I’d say.’

‘Yes, but you don’t know if you actually did it, do you? I mean, you’ve had a shower, so we can’t sniff the evidence.’

I put my sausage back down. ‘Thanks, Dan.’

‘What’s the matter with you? If there’s no evidence, nothing happened, did it?’

‘There
is
evidence. The slamming door. Me mysteriously being out of the fat suit. The second impression in the pillow.
Something
happened. And I can’t marry Sam if I’ve been unfaithful to her.’

‘What?’ Dan looks up from where he’s been trying unsuccessfully to get the lid off a mini pot of strawberry jam. ‘Why the hell not?’

I look at him. The wedding is only a week away; I don’t have time to explain. ‘I just can’t, all right?’

‘Okay,’ says Dan, putting his coffee cup down reluctantly. ‘What do you remember exactly? From this morning, I mean.’

I shrug. ‘I don’t know. There was a bang, and then I woke up.’

He reaches across the table and nudges me. ‘Which is pretty much your sex life from Sam’s point of view.’

‘A bang from the
door
. This isn’t funny.’

‘Sorry, mate. Just trying to lighten the mood a little.’

‘I don’t need the mood lightening. I want last night not to have happened.’

‘Did you actually see anyone?’

‘No.’

‘Well, was there any
physical
evidence?’

I almost don’t want to ask. ‘What sort of physical evidence?’

‘You know. A used condom. Or even a condom wrapper. Or a pair of knickers hanging from the light fitting.’

‘Listen, all I know is that I was woken up this morning by the sound of someone leaving my room. And as far as I’m aware, I’d shared my bed with someone. A woman.’

Dan waits until the waitress has filled his coffee up again, then lowers his voice. ‘Listen, Ed, even if you did, you were pretty drunk last night.’

‘I know. And that’s what probably got me into trouble.’

‘Or maybe not.’

‘Huh?’

Dan picks up another triangle of toast, and starts buttering it carefully. ‘I don’t know about you, but I always have to be careful with the amount I have to drink if I want to be sure that big Dan can come out to play.’

‘What are you talking about?’

‘Just that, you know, you’re worried you did something that quite frankly you might not have been able to
physically
. I mean, after a few beers, I’m sort of . . .’ He reaches over with his fork and spears the end of my sausage, lifting it off my plate and twisting it so the free end’s pointing downwards. ‘Honestly, it’s like trying to get a Slinky into a letterbox. And you had more than a few beers last night, if you get my meaning.’

I do, although I could also do with out his rather graphic depiction. ‘So? That doesn’t alter the fact that I still spent the night with her.’

‘Yes, but there’s spending the night, and then …’ He sticks his tongue into his cheek, and makes it bulge out. ‘Spending the night.’

‘The facts, as I see them, are these. At some point last night I must have picked up a woman and asked her back to my hotel room. Forgetting whether or not we had sex for the moment, I obviously wanted to, otherwise I wouldn’t have invited her back with me. And like they say, it’s the thought that counts.’

‘Huh?’

‘You know – not only might I have been unfaithful to Sam, but the fact that I wanted to is even more concerning. I mean, does it signify that I’m not as committed to her as I should be? Or was I subconsciously trying to punish her for my suspicions over the last few weeks?’

Dan makes a whooshing sound, ducking as he does so to indicate that what I’ve just said has gone completely over his head. ‘If you want my advice, you’ll just forget about it.

‘I can’t just forget about it. It obviously means something.’

‘It doesn’t mean anything. Which is exactly what you’re going to tell Sam if she ever finds out about it. Which she won’t,’ he adds, noticing my sudden look of alarm.

‘That may be so. But
I
still need to find out if anything happened. For my own piece of mind, at least.’

Dan puts his coffee down, snatches my key card off the table, and stands up. ‘Well, we better check your room, then.’

‘Too late, Dan. She left ages ago.’

Dan stuffs a last piece of toast into his mouth, and then chugs back the rest of his coffee. ‘No, dummy. Like I said earlier. For evidence.’

9.17 a.m.

We’re on our way back up to my room, my head still swimming from both the possibility of what I might have done last night and the amount of alcohol I consumed. I’m having a job putting one foot in front of the other, but as soon as the lift doors open, Dan starts sprinting down the corridor.

‘What’s wrong?’ I say, breaking into a reluctant trot after him.

‘The cleaner,’ shouts Dan, pointing towards the far end of the corridor, where one of the hotel staff is pushing a trolley laden with cleaning supplies towards my room. ‘Got to stop her tampering with the crime scene.’

‘
Alleged
crime,’ I say, catching up with him outside my room.

Dan rolls his eyes, then swipes the door open. ‘Whatever. Are you sure it wasn’t just the cleaner you heard?’

‘Not unless she tried to make my bed from underneath the covers.’

Dan grins as he follows me into the room. ‘That’s my kind of room service. Right, you check the bedroom, I’ll do the bathroom.’

‘What am I looking for?’

‘You’ve had sex before, right?’

‘Of course.’

He makes a face. ‘Then I don’t have to spell it out for you.’

9.31 a.m.

I’ve checked everywhere I can think of, looking for anything I can think of, and there’s nothing that suggests a night of passion. And even though Dan seems to think that proves something, as far as I’m concerned, all it proves is that there’s no evidence. Not for the first time this morning, I sit heavily down on the end of the bed, feeling a little sick, although this time it’s nothing to do with my hangover.

‘Why the hell did we have to stay in a stupid hotel in the first place?’

‘Because it was your stag night.’

‘Christ, Dan,’ I snap. I’m mad with him, even though I know it’s – probably – not his fault. ‘Why couldn’t you have kept your bloody roving eye on me. I hope she was worth it?’

‘Your mystery woman? Well, that’s what we’re trying to find . . .’

‘Not mine, Dan. Yours. The one you abandoned me for.’

Dan stares blankly at me for a few seconds, then turns and races out through the door and across the corridor. ‘Bollocks,’ he says, fumbling with his key card, before eventually managing to get the light in the lock to turn green. As I follow him inside, he lets out a loud sigh. Even from the doorway, I can see the word ‘Bastard’ written in red lipstick on the mirror.

‘What’s all that about?’

‘Beats me. Strange behaviour for someone who said she was a fan of the show.’ Dan frowns. ‘Though I’m guessing that maybe she isn’t any more.’

‘What did I tell you about sleeping with your groupies?’

Dan looks as if he’s giving the question serious thought. ‘That I should?’ he says, hesitantly.

‘So why are you a bastard?’ I say, stopping myself from adding the words ‘this’ and ‘time’ to the end of that sentence. ‘Or don’t I want to know?’

‘Er, that might be because I promised to bring her breakfast in bed. But then you appeared with this sob story of yours.’ He shrugs, then escorts me out along the corridor, and back into the lift. ‘Oh well, easy come, easy go. Mind you, it wasn’t that easy come, given the amount I’d had to drink . . .’

‘Please,’ I say stabbing the ‘down’ button. ‘That’s too much information.

‘Sorry.’

‘So. Back to
me
, please,’ I say, once we’re sitting at our breakfast table again. ‘What on earth do I tell Sam?’

‘Nothing, of course.’

‘But that’s lying.’

‘No it isn’t. You don’t actually know what happened, do you? So
anything
you say will be a lie.’

‘Including nothing.’

‘Not necessarily.’

‘What am I going to do?’ I say, as he waves the waitress over and orders another coffee. ‘The minute I get home, Sam’s going to be asking me if I had a good time. And the truth is? I don’t know.’

Dan reaches over, picks up a leftover piece of toast from the rack on the empty table next door, and sniffs it. ‘Okay,’ he says, putting it down on his plate and buttering it. ‘Turn out your pockets.’

‘My pockets? What for?’

‘Just do it, will you?’

‘Dan, I . . .’

‘We’re trying to establish whether in fact you met someone last night.’

‘She’s hardly likely to be in my trouser pocket, is she?’

Dan puts down his butter knife and regards me earnestly across the table.

‘Ed. Think this through. This is you we’re talking about. Are you seriously telling me you picked someone up for no-strings sex last night?’

‘For the millionth time, I don’t know.’

‘Okay, when was the last time you did something like that?’

‘It would be before Sam, obviously. And before Jane. And even Jane and I dated for a few weeks before we . . . you know. And then there was Sally before that. But we didn’t even . . .’

Dan holds his hand up. ‘Edward. As enjoyable as this trip down the rather short road you call your relationship history is, that’s not what I’m getting at. Have you ever picked up a girl for no-strings sex?’

I sit and think for a few more seconds, before Dan can’t help himself. ‘No, you haven’t, have you?’ he says. ‘So what makes you think you’re going to have done it now?’

‘I don’t know,’ I say, rocking anxiously back and forth in my chair. ‘I was very drunk.’

‘Yes, but . . .’ Dan leans across the table, puts both hands on my shoulders, and holds me steady, as if trying to teach an uncoordinated five-year-old to ride a bike. ‘Even so, are you telling me you’d have done it without even asking her name?’

‘Well, no, obviously.’

‘And what did I tell you, about meeting women in bars?’

‘I wish it had been “don’t”.’

‘About getting their details?’ persists Dan.

‘Er . . .’ I think back to just after Jane had dumped me, when Dan was trying to pass on some of his pick-up skills. Those single days seem a long time ago – although I can’t help worrying they may be reappearing soon. ‘Something about getting their email addresses rather than their phone numbers?’